Dark Mark
by tellmesomethingnew
Summary: The Mark was supposed to be celebrated, something to be happy about, but a man makes his own and ruins the happiness of one woman in particular. Written for the Tomione Kink Meme Soulmate Challenge. M for lemons and various other reasons.
1. Part 1

**\- Part 1 -**

Tom stared down at his Mark at the edge of what was once his bed in Slytherin tower. He sat still, quiet as a mouse on top of the freshly-made mahogany four-poster bed covered in silky emerald green bedding, as his darkened green eyes glowered down at the horrid thing on his forearm. It was truth that he had been dreading, to this very day, the arrival of the Mark. He had been in denial his entire life up until now.

He knew there was no one out there for him, that the very idea of a Soulmate was just absolute rubbish. And he was so very certain that he wouldn't even receive a Mark. He had read stories of people aging without one and Tom, with the Darkest of all hearts beating, didn't even believe he could possess one until he woke up that morning and had felt that unwelcome sting in his forearm.

No, he refused to have a Soulmate. Absolutely _refused_.

His quick reflexes and sharp hearing allowed him to unroll the arms of his oxford to hide his Mark before Abraxas Malfoy, the platinum-haired boy who had just stumbled through the door Tom had sworn he locked, saw it.

"Tom! We're ready to head out. Are you?" Abraxas asked with a bright smile that made Tom sneer everry time he set eyes on it. He looked over at his packed luggage, huffing a heavy sigh as he got to his feet without a word, turning his back to Abraxas.

"Tell me, Brax," started Tom after he was at his luggage, wheels turning in his mind, "Do you have your Mark yet?"

Abraxas was quiet behind Tom for a second, his smile falling into a worried line as the color began to drain from his face. Nervously, he swallowed hard and looked away from his master, knowing there'd be consequences if he didn't answer.

"No," Abraxas answered after too long.

Slowly, Tom turned to face Abraxas, a look of chaos and something else that terrified Abraxas in his eyes.

"Hold out your left arm," Tom ordered in a dangerously soft voice.

Abraxas turned horrified when he heard the door of the room shut and lock behind him. There was no escape for him now.

"Tom…" Abraxas started, backing away until he felt the door at his back and Tom had him trapped.

"Hold out," Tom said slowly, "your left arm." Tom didn't like repeating himself.

A danger sparked in his tone and Abraxas literally _flinched_ as he obeyed and held out his shaking left arm. He'd beg if he knew it'd help him. But this was Tom Riddle, the man who never knew mercy.

Tom ripped at Abraxas sleeve until his forearm was pale and bare for him. Tom raised his wand, silently placed a sound barrier around the room before he pointed it at Abraxas' forearm. What happened next, left Abraxas crying out in pain as a light filled the room and blood dripped to the stone floor.

* * *

 _ **10 Years Later**_

The bright sunlight of the early summer afternoon woke Hermione from her slumber. Her eyes blinked open and she stretched before she turned over and eyed the window next to her bed facing the grounds of Hogwarts. A smile appeared at her pink lips as an old nostalgic excitement bubbled in her stomach and reached for her lungs. She was back at Hogwarts. And although classes had gone on for a week now, she still felt the same excitement she felt when she first arrived here. It would be weeks until it'd fade away.

But something about this excitement was different. Excitement of graduation, of the curiosity that mixed in with it at what her last year at Hogwarts would be like. _A year worth remembering, above all, I hope_.

She sat up in her bed, pushing the covers off of her when a sharp sting in her left forearm caught her attention. Freezing for a moment, she blinked and all of a sudden, her heart picked up in speed. She knew what that sting meant. With an ecstatic, giddy smile that nearly reached from ear to ear, she turned her head, pulled up the sleeve of her pajama shirt, and eyed her new Mark.

What she saw made her smile completely fall off her face as her free hand grabbed her arm, her thumb angrily and profusely rubbing over the Mark to see if it'd fade, regardless of the fact that it stung like a burn with her doing so. She'd heard of people pranking others in their sleep of the fake Mark but…

"No...no... _no!_ " Her voice was shrill in the close walls of the empty dorm room. Ginny, Lavender, and Parvati must have still been at breakfast. More so they were lucky to be there and not here.

And suddenly, tears were clouding Hermione's vision as she shakily made her bare feet touch the cool stone flooring of the room, almost tripping from being entangled with her red sheets in the process.

"No!" she cried as she shook her head, viewing the Mark in the bright daylight. _This couldn't be!_

Her eyes traced the black pattern of the skull with the snake twisting from its mouth, praying to find proof that this was just...somehow...a different Mark. _Anything but the Dark Mark_.

The Dark Mark was something completely changed from the understanding of the basic Soul Mark. The Soul Mark was supposed to vary from color to shape to size...each was supposed to have two owners only, to mark that they were Soulmates or in the words of a hopeless romantic, " _meant for each other_ ". But the Dark Mark was different. For ten years, it haunted the very lives of the Muggle-borns and half-bloods, showing up on the arms of the complete Dark witches and wizards. And ever since it had appeared up in the sky that one December night, the lives of Britain had been changed forever.

Hermione sat down on her bed slowly, in shock and shaking with tears pooling from her eyes as she remembered all the talk about that one night. She was only seven at the time, but she remembered vividly of the image of the Dark Mark in the sky on the front page of every single newspaper. Right on top of the building that sat above the Ministry of Magic was a large shape in the stormy sky, consisting of a skull with a snake twisting from its mouth. It was a warning. Hermione somehow knew that when she first heard word of it and watched her mother read the newspaper at the breakfast nook table, this was the beginning of something _bad_.

Hermione was cut from her thoughts when she heard footsteps approaching the door. Quickly, she reached for her wand beneath her pillow and aimed it at the door, locking it.

"Hermione? Is that you crying in there?" came Ginny's voice before the door handle jiggled.

"Have you seriously locked the door?" Ginny sounded annoyed, but to anyone who knew her well enough knew that was her way of being concerned.

The door handle jiggled once more before Ginny began knocking on the door. Hermione distinctly heard Ginny try a few basic spells, but the door wouldn't open.

"You better let me in or I'll get McGonagall," Ginny threatened. There was a fear in Ginny's voice, a helpless fear. She didn't know what to do.

Hermione suddenly stopped crying, forcing her tears to cease as she wiped all wetness away and quickly got to her feet again, rushing over and unlocking the door to a startled red-head Ginny.

"What the bloody hell-" started Ginny as she quickly looked around the room and stopped at the sight of Hermione's bed that looked as if Hermione had been thrashing about in it for hours. She huffed a sigh and relaxed, putting a hand on her hip as she gave Hermione an annoyed look. "I told you to see Pomfrey about those nightmares." She scowled and shook her head, her straight red hair shaking with her movements. "I thought something bad had happened to you…"

Deep inside Hermione, a part of her relaxed at the turn of Ginny's belief in the situation.

"Nevermind that, get dressed, we're heading to Hogsmeade early," Ginny said, eying Hermione's pajamas and cracking a smile that was supposed to lighten up the situation. "We'll be in the common room."

While Hermione faked a smile, she was ballistic on the inside.

She waited for Ginny to turn her back and head back down the stairs to the common room before she closed the door and leaned her back against it, letting out a deep breath after forgetting how to breathe. She spared one more glance down at her Mark before she bit her bottom lip and _shook_. Horror and confusion filled her up to the brim.

 _I'm a good witch. I've never cast a single Dark spell in my life before,_ she kept assuring herself. _Maybe this was just some huge mistake_.

Shaking almost violently, she walked over to her trunk and pulled out fresh clothes for the day, grabbing her brush and yanking it through her thick, untamed mess of brown curls a bit too quickly.

 _What do I do?_ Hermione asked herself as she looked down at her Mark for the hundredth time. All she felt at that very moment was a violent rush of confusion and curiosity. Confusion for what this meant for her and her future, and curiosity for what this could honestly mean.

Of course, should the whole story of the Dark Mark not be true because in all retrospect...how could it be? It defied all laws of the Soulmates and their Marks.

Only two people can have the same Mark. _Only two_. Yet ever since the Dark Mark, so many murderers, thieves, and psychopaths ran around baring the same Mark. Rumor says that it meant that their Soulmate was the Darkness. And ever since that one night on New Years Eve when she was seven, a part of her couldn't believe it. (More so refused, but still, couldn't.)

Some people said that the Dark Mark was a single person's doing, trying to overthrow the basic laws of the Soul Mark. They had to be right, because why else would Sirius, Harry's godfather, claim her to be the ' _brightest witch of her age'_ and why was she put into Gryffindor and not Slytherin?

Hermione was an honest witch. She came from a family of middle-class dentists who had raised her to be a kind and fair person. Muggles, yes, but she had never forgotten her place in this world, not even all those years ago when Draco Malfoy, a popular Slytherin boy, had called her a Mudblood and she had cried about it. She was an honorable witch who worked hard for what she knew in her beating heart that she deserved, and she was best friends with two of the bravest men she knew. She had believed she was the brightest witch of her age, which was exactly why she had always refused to use any Dark magic.

Whoever was the owner, the _true_ owner, of this Mark...had to have a bigger plan for all witches and wizards. They had to have had wishes to overthrow all understanding of the Mark with a decision to copy it...but that was only an assumption, maybe even just a theory.

It _must_ have been so.

 _But what if they're wrong?_ The other part of Hermione whispered.

"'Mione! Let's go!" called Ginny from the bottom of the stairs. It reached the top of the hall and bounced off of the stone walls so Hermione could just hear her.

She messily made her bed and used a concealing spell on her Mark to allow her to wear a quarter-length sleeved jumper as she headed out of the dorm room and down to the commons where Ginny was shaking her head at something Luna had said.


	2. Part 2

**\- Part 2 -**

The Dark Mark had been a heavy weight that had secretly clung to the shoulders of Hermione Granger. The memory of spending the rest of her time at Hogwarts pretending she had no Mark, trying to ignore what students whispered about her behind her own back, still haunted her painfully.

A flat had been set up for her in London after she had graduated where she led two lives. She had refused to dwell on the Mark and pushed herself to live life the way she could try to in the least. By day she worked in the Department of Mysteries for the Ministry of Magic and by night, she was a famous book critic (a reason why when she picked her flat, she had to make sure she had an extra room for her bookshelves and reading chair). It was the only way to keep herself busy from pondering unnecessary things about her Mark.

It was true, that she had looked forward to being somewhere more high in the Ministry of Magic, like the head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, or work her way up to being head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. While she was offered the choice of being a secretary for the Minister of Magic, she had agreed that working for Department of Mysteries would suit her criteria and personality from all those years of running around with Harry and Ron at Hogwarts. Hermione refused to take the easy way up the work pyramid, not in the eyes of the Minister. She felt it would have made her look weak.

Harry and Ron were Aurors, so she hardly heard from them since they were constantly out and about, trying to take in the witches and wizards who had gone Dark and committed the worst crimes. But when she did hear from them, it was on occasions such as birthdays or holidays, which were the only times they got the chance to sit down, relax, and catch up with Hermione as fast as possible. And when Ron's Mark had appeared and had been matched with the hated Lavender just before Graduation, Hermione had ripped all her feelings for Ron away, as if she were wiping the slate clean.

"I need you to stay late tonight. We have a new shipment of Unspeakables that need to be entered into records," said Hermione's boss Fanera Vulswood all of a sudden, breaking Hermione from her thoughts about...well, _everything_.

Hermione looked up from a small stack of records she had been going through today to accept into the records system, alarmed.

She had never stayed after work late before.

"But I need to get home," Hermione pushed as she sat up in her chair.

Fanera sighed and rubbed above her right eyebrow. Hermione knew she did that only when she was stressed and rushed.

"Look, I wouldn't ask you if I truly did need you. Kulson had called off sick for his shift and I need your help."

Fanera wasn't one to practically beg for help. And even though she really wasn't begging, a plea was heard in the tone of her voice and it made Hermione frown.

She had remembered Kulson, the man who was hired to take care of entering shipped Unspeakables into the records. He usually came in after Hermione would leave for home, for about three hours.

 _Three hours, I could do it-no problem_.

"I'll bring you supper, if it makes things better," Fanera soon added, her voice a pitch brighter, as if she were very hopefully that what she had just said would automatically make it okay for Hermione.

Hermione huffed a sigh, leaning back in her uncomfortable wooden desk chair as she softly slapped her quill down on the pile of records. She stared at her quill for a moment before her eyes met with Fanerar's.

"What kind of supper?"

Fanera hunched slightly, as if an entire weight had been lifted from her shoulders as her dark pink-stained lips stretched into a smile that showed her bright white teeth. "Thank you, Hermione. Truly-thank you." She clasped her hands together, shaking them at Hermione as if she could practically fall to her knees and worship the proper thank-you Hermione honestly felt she deserved in that moment.

Hermione waved Fanera off as her boss scurried out of the little office mumbling about something of a dinner menu.

By the time Hermione was able to leave the Ministry of Magic, the sun had disappeared into the horizon, allowing the full moon to be swallowed up by the heavy clouds the weatherman had promised for the evening.

Rain was softly drizzling when Hermione used the floo network to find herself in a quiet, dark Diagon Alley. If she left through there and through the Leaky Cauldron, she'd be able to take the Knight Bus down a few blocks to where her flat was and she'd be home in time to get a quick shower and go to bed before it'd be far past her bedtime.

Her hair was already damp and frizzier than usual and she was feeling drained from keeping her concealment spell upon her arm. She looked around, seeing that no one was near by, and lifted the spell.

She huffed a relax sight, feeling a weight being lifted from her as her small heels clicked against the brick pavement of the street.

All of a sudden, she was being pulled down an unknown alley. Judging by the forceful grip on her arm, it was threatening and her captor meant harm. She drew her wand just as she eyed the dark wand pointing towards her throat, but her captor was too quick, slamming her wrist against the brick wall of the building and causing her wand to fall from her now-pained grip. She cried out but a wet and cold hand covered hers.

"Look what we have here," came a gruesome, cold voice that made Hermione shiver out of the disgust and comfort it had brought her. The cold rain hadn't helped.

"You look like you've got some money. Give us some."

"I haven't any galleons. Now let me go," she warned, eying the two dark shadows before her.

Hermione kicked against them when they just stood there, laughing at her. She cursed herself for not being quick enough to use a defensive spell when she had felt their hands grabbing at her coat, searching for her coin purse. Her eyes landed on her wand, which was discarded and wet as it rolled out into the main road of Diagon Alley. She forgot out to breathe when she tried to fight back once again, finding herself losing her footing. She went forward just as she heard the shaking jingle her change purse made. A rip sounded from her left sleeve as she looked up and eyed the red velvet purse, anger flooding through her.

The men laughed greedily as she heard the click of her purse being opened. She reached over and grabbed her wand and when she turned her back to aim her wand at them, one of them had reached out and grabbed a strong hold of the arm holding onto her wand.

"'Old on there, sweetum. I wouldn't do tha' if I were you...wait a minute. What the bloody 'ell?"

"What the bloody 'ell?"

Her mind registered an arm holding her left arm out to be bare, showing her Mark. _I just had to take down the charm..._

"Is that the Dark Mark?"

"I ain' seen her befo'."

"Me either."

"What should we do wi' her?"

"Think we should take her to the master."

Her eyes opened, ready to run.

"Oh no you don'!"

A wand was pointed at her and all of a sudden, she felt as if her entire body had lost control of itself, losing all functions of her muscles. Her body began to collapse down to the dirty ground when one of the men caught her and the strong smell of body odor and moth-eaten clothing hit her nostrils. She tried to call out for help, but all she could get out was a small cry before she felt herself being apparated with the two men.

When the apparating had finished, she felt her feelings slowly creep their way back into her body as she hit a stone floor, weakly catching herself with her hands as she coughed and threw up. As the feelings returned to her, she felt her whole body heave from the loss of feeling, whatever jinx they put on her, and the apparating.

"Fucking hell," came a sharp voice from the end of the room. "What is this!" the angry, venomous voice demanded.

Hermione looked up and laid her eyes on a man approach her with an angry expression but handsome features illuminated by the lit candles in the room. It looked like some form of a living room or a parlor. Her visions blurred suddenly and she puked again, all of that mysterious food she ate for her late dinner escaping her.

The man knelt before her, just before her puddle of vomit as she sniffled, wiped her mouth with the back of her right hand, and looked up at the man with watery eyes.

"Look at her arm!" cried one of the men who had brought her here. She felt other eyes on her as she sat there, kneeling on the stone floor, shaking and shivering with soaked and ruined clothing and her shirtless torso showing.

Hermione's eyes connected with the man who was kneeling before her.

" _Shit_ ," immediately hissed.


	3. Part 3

**\- Part 3 -**

A strange feeling overcame Hermione and she suddenly forgot about her upset stomach and the puddle of her vomit keeping a distance between her and the handsome man glowering at her. She took in his light green, wide eyes, dark wavy hair parted at the side where it hit his eyebrows, and then his pale, flawless skin. The only thing she could describe such a feeling was the memory of that one night, when she was younger, when her father had lost complete control of the car and swerved off a bridge. It was a miracle that they had all made it out safely with minor injuries.

But it was that feeling of falling, peril, and not knowing what would happen to you that felt like this. That stomach-churning, heart clenching, breathless sensation left her at a loss for words, and no doubt did the same for the man before her.

"Master?" The voice was muffled in her ears as she blinked at the man, furrowing her eyebrows.

Her heart felt as if it were about to explode, or even jump from her chest. It was a restless, almost exciting feeling that left her with the urge to smile, but when her entire body and mind had returned to reality, her mouth parted and she groaned.

Cold, smooth hands found her forearm. They were _his_. She could tell from the burning sensation the contact gave her that traveled up her arm, through her shoulder down her chest, and to the pit of her stomach. She wasn't sure if she liked it or not, but it was a pleasant-like sensation nonetheless.

"Who are you?" he then asked, his eyes blinking at her as if he were fighting with control over something. His emotions? His words? His body functions?

Hermione licked her lips, readying to answer when she felt her body give out. She collapsed to the side, just missing her puddle of vomit as her vision blurred to black.

Somewhere in the darkness, hands that burned her picked her up and carried her to someplace soft and warm. And when the arms had left her, she welcomed the full darkness and fell into a deep slumber.

* * *

The sound of a wooden door opening was what woke Hermione from the darkness. Her eyes slowly opened and before she noticed the black-haired woman that came in through the door, she noticed the headache that immediately pounded away at her temples. She tried to sit up, but her whole body cried out for her not to move. She was able to find a way to raise a hand to her forehead as she groaned, testing her voice.

"Finally," said the woman.

Hermione looked up at the woman, who wore a black dress, waist corset, and held a tray of food. She sat it down on a nightstand by the bed Hermione was laying in.

Hermione's eyes left the woman and focused on her surroundings. She laid on the left of a fluffy mahogany four-poster with cream sheets and warm-colored floral bedding.

"Where am I?" Hermione asked, her voice scratchy and suddenly thirsty for a cold liquid of some sort.

The woman ignored Hermione's question and sat down on the bed beside her.

"Now I told Master you'd be awake, but he _assured_ me that you'd need more time to sleep." She hummed and shook her head, her black curls shaking with her motions as she turned her head and gave Hermione a grin.

Confusion hit her and she looked around again as if she'd find a clue that would help her out more than this woman was at the moment.

"I brought you food," she then said, holding her tray above Hermione lap as she motioned for Hermione to sit up a bit.

She tried again and found herself with a bit more strength at the sight and smell of the food and a glass of water covered in perspiration - it had to be cold, which was exactly what she wanted right now.

No, _needed_.

Hermione grabbed for the glass, pulling it to her lips as she took in the sensation as the ice water slid down her throat when her mind fully registered, finally, and Hermione froze as she stared over at the woman.

"You're Bellatrix Lestrange," Hermione murmured.

A part of her felt honored to be in the presence of someone so popular, so notorious as Bellatrix, mostly known for her accounts of murder, use of the Unforgivables, and her mysterious escape from Azkaban - even the death of her friend Neville's parents, which was what led the other part of her to sit there in hatred and disgust.

The woman shrugged, her lips forming a faked pout. "Tha's me." And all of a sudden, she was pointing an index finger at Hermione. "Who are you?" she asked, leaning in towards Hermione, her wide brown eyes squinting with a dramatic suspicion.

"Hermione." Her voice came out shaky, almost nervous.

Was she nervous? Of course she was. Bellatrix Lestrange was sitting beside her, staring at her with unreadable wild eyes.

Bellatrix was frozen for a moment before she took her hand back and slowly leaned away, her head held high as she looked down at Hermione.

Without a single word, she got up and left.

Hermione had lost all appetite as she looked over at the plate of bacon and eggs with jelly-covered biscuits on the side.

 _Where am I?_

She was just about to kick the covers off of her when the door opened and in came the man from before, the handsome man she had felt that connection with.

"...needs rest!" came Bellatrix's voice from the hall outside the door.

The man trained his eyes on Hermione's, a look of determination set to his features as he headed for the bed.

"Master!" yelled Bellatrix.

"Bloody hell, go do your job!" Tom hissed back at her without breaking eye contact for a single moment.

"You," he said, directed at Hermione as he stood beside the bed and looked down at her over his nose as if she were something negative to be studied.

"Me?" Hermione blinked up at him, kicking the sheets off of her as she slid to the edge of the bed.

She wanted to touch him…

 _No, that's just the connection talking_ , she told herself, almost shaking her head.

The man, this " _Master_ " reached down and roughly grabbed her left arm.

"Ow!" Hermione hissed under his grip, looking down at her Mark before she looked back up at her Soulmate.

And then suddenly…

"Where are my clothes?" she demanded. She looked down at the silver night gown she wore, her eyes widening before she looked around the room as if expecting her clothes to be found in plain site.

She tried yanking her arm from his grip, but he was far stronger than she was, regardless of how lithe his frame was.

Slowly, the roughness of his grip faded into a simple-strong hold and only then did she feel that familiar burning sensation she had felt earlier after the connection had been made.

Blast that connection. She didn't want to find her Soulmate. _No, you did, you daft idiot_ , she scolded herself mentally under the fact that this, making the connection, finding her Soulmate, had proven true what those few people around the world had said about the Dark Mark.

It truly was overthrown from its entire understanding.

And the man that held her arm tightly in his grip was bearing cold green eyes down at the Mark.

"This Mark...where did you get this?"

"Who dressed me?" she asked, suddenly horrified.

"Where did you get this?" the man repeated again as he slightly shook her arm for emphasis.

Hermione looked down at her Mark before looking up at the man, her eyebrows pushed into a look of confusion.

"I woke up with it on my seventeenth birthday!" she cried, honestly.

The man looked as if he had seen a ghost.

"What's your name." His voice had gone low and Hermione feared of what kind of temper was brewing up beneath the skin of this man.

"Hermione."

"Hermione what?"

She bit her lip.

"Answer me," he demanded. The danger that sparked in his tone made her cringe for a second before she shook her head and squinted her eyes shut.

"Granger." Her muggle-born maiden name came from her lips in a pained whimper.

The man let go of Hermione so fast, it was as if she had scorched his hand.


	4. Part 4

**\- Part 4 -**

Tom Riddle.

 _Tom Marvolo Riddle._

Hermione knew his face had looked familiar, but never, in any moment of her life, did she think she'd end up face to face with such a man, let alone sharing the two same Marks.

The Darkest, smartest, and most talented wizard in the entire world...was her Soulmate.

"Why do you keep me here like this?" Hermione asked one day.

Her breath was ragged, her heartbeat loud and thick in her ears as she felt herself take a step backwards with kiss swollen lips.

Weeks had passed that she had been kept here, in this manner, like a prison. She didn't know where they were, in all of the world, but she knew the people inside of it.

She had come to learn the names of the other Death Eaters that came and went between discussing "business" with Tom and spending time together dining in the rather large dining room and smoking cigarettes in the parlor.

She had come to learn the names of many, besides Bellatrix, such as Draco's cousin Abraxas who was thought to be dead, a questionable bald but young man named Avery who was quiet but bore forever-horrified gray eyes, the two men who had captured her from that alley - Jerron and Weston, and two suspicious chestnut-haired twins by the name of Cass and Pearson.

Strangely enough, everyone had been either quiet around Hermione, or oddly friendly, witch all similar patronizing attitudes.

She knew they knew she was muggle-born, which was what kept her awake at night, tossing and turning and fearing for what would come the next day, _wondering_ how long she'd be kept here...and unable to keep Tom from being in her mind.

But right now, this very moment, was one of many that had happened over the past week.

Slowly, a sexual tension built up between her and Tom, regardless of whether or not either one of them had wanted such feelings, and neither did. Hermione recalled times where she'd be sitting at the kitchen island, drinking tea and reading a book she was allowed to borrow from the manner's library, and Tom would be there and all she could think about was either what his hair would feel like between her fingers, or if his lips were really as soft as they appeared to be.

Sometimes, they'd be talking with heated words and no matter how many questions Hermione asked, they were never answered. Tom would reach his hand out, almost as if he wanted to stroke her cheek or to grab a lock of her curls to twist between his fingers. And sometimes, he'd step close to her, so suddenly and out of nowhere, as if he were about to pull her against him and kiss her.

But Tom Riddle was a man of control up until now.

Hermione felt the wall of the hallway brush up against her back and she leaned against it, trying to catch her breath as Tom followed her and closed the distance between them once more. He trapped her face between his slender hands and kissed her again, ignoring the question she had asked.

She wanted to push him away, she really did. She wished she had her wand, that she could curse this man into oblivion. Most of all, she wanted to slap him across the cheep, to punch him square in the jaw, but her body reacted too quickly to his kiss for a second time.

After all, this _was_ a side effect of connecting with your Soulmate, the loss of inhibitions and the sensitivity.

He slid a hand down from her cheek and wrapped an arm around her, pressing her into the wall and holding her close to him as he delv his tongue between her lips to twist against hers as she moaned into the kiss and gave in almost as if she were melting into his embrace.

The way his arm held her, the way his body felt against hers…

Waves of arousal pulsed through her body and she couldn't breathe again.

Weakly, she tried to push him away from her. She didn't know why she tried to begin with, being that Tom was stronger than her.

But this…

She made a noise of disapproval in the kiss, but nothing would do. Nothing until her palm _finally_ collided with his cheek and sent a _slap_ echoing through the hallway.

Tom suddenly pulled away from her and Hermione covered her mouth, an apology on the tip of her tongue.

Tom's eyes had darkened as he put a hand to his now-red cheek, his eyebrows knitted together. Hermione wasn't sure if he was confused, angry, or worried.

But when he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her up so she could wrap her legs around him, he pushed open a door and carried her inside it to reveal his bedroom. It was twice the size of any of the bedrooms inside the manner-the master bedroom. Hermione knew this from the times she had returned a borrowed item to Avery or to Bellatrix and had seen the insides of their rooms, which proved to be the same size as hers, only personalized a bit.

Tom's room consisted of a large four-poster with matching dressers, a vanity, and a door slightly opened to reveal a bathroom.

She had to tear her lips away from his to look at the room, but Tom couldn't keep his lips off of her as he moved them down and found her neck. She cried out from the sweet sensation it gave her, her eyes fluttering shut as she felt him turn her around, and then she was falling.

"I hate you," he said as she opened her eyes and found herself laying on the bed and Tom was already descending down for another kiss as he hastily tried ripping at his clothing and the dress Bellatrix had let her borrow. He managed to unbutton it without ruining it as he pulled it away from her and revealed her bra-clad breasts and the thin layer of lacy underwear she wore.

When his lips were at her neck again, she opened her eyes and looked down at him, seeing bits and pieces of the fact that he had successfully unbuttoned his oxford and ripped his tie off without any harm to the poor articles of clothing as they sat discarded beside them along with her dress.

And then he was greedily pulling down her bra until her breasts popped from from the tops of them. Tom cupped a breast in his hand and pinched her nipple lightly, causing Hermione to cry out as her body writhed beneath him. He held her in place with his legs as he sat astride her, trapping her beneath him. And then his mouth found her other nipple and he sucked on it. A tight sensation coiled in her stomach and her muscles down south clenched.

 _I want him, I truly do. I need him_.

There wasn't even much time before he had undid his trousers, pushed her panties aside, and pressed into her slick opening easier than expected. She couldn't remember the last time she had been with a man, one of the ones she had met back at some pub where she usually went to after a bad day at work.

"Oh…" she whined as he slid into her, beginning to move his hips as if he desired her more than anything in all of the universe. He was quick as he pulled her bra from her and pressed his naked torso against hers.

The sensation of his naked torso pressed against hers made her shiver.

 _Like puzzle pieces_.

 _No, stop that_.

Tears formed in her eyes between the level of pleasure she felt, how perfect and right this felt, and the fact that the biggest enemy to what she grew up standing for-the man who killed so many, such as Harry's parents, was fucking her and all she could do was moan for him and claw at his back as he grunted and bit into her neck hard enough to leave a mark, but not hard enough to draw blood.

For the first time, she didn't have to reach down to play with her clit, he alone made her come and she twisted from the height of the orgasm as she cried out his name, her voice bouncing off the walls of the bedroom as Tom pounded her a few more times before he froze, his hips trembled, and he hissed out her name as she felt his hot seed spill into her.

"You're mine," Tom stressed as he grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. His eyes were possessive and his grip unforgiving, surely bruising.

She hadn't the ability to refuse him.

Nor did she as he practically forced her to stand by her side for the years to come, as if she had disappeared off the face of the world and only existed behind the walls of the manner and in the arms of her Dark Soulmate.


End file.
